Feather Of The Crow
by Aviator Dark
Summary: [AU] After losing his father, Oblio is burdened by another responsibility, one beyond his understanding. If he and his new comrade, Crow, cannot fight against the raven combatants, doom could fall upon the world as we know it—but is there really another world out there, where Crow came from? The strange night-haired boy hides a secret, and he's keeping his mouth shut.
1. Çяσω

**Feather Of The Crow**

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**classified location | classified time | pov: unknown**

They were dropping dead all around him. It would have been so easy for him to look away, but he couldn't bear to, no matter how much the sight made his belly lurch and nauseated him. Tears were flowing out of his eyes as, one by one, they fell to their knees, and somewhere out there, the mysterious, cloaked figure was beheading more and more of them.

Something was forcing him to kneel, crushing his limbs and pulling him down. He tried to fight back, but pain exploded in his chest, and he screamed. No one lent him any help; his comrades were all dead. And so much was happening around him; shadows were swirling and taunts were whispered into his ears, the pungent scent of it was choking him. And above his bowed head, the cloaked outline was slaying more and more of his old friends. Their heads chopped off, and their eyes bulging. The cloaked figure was holding a weapon in one clawed and bony hand, and in the other was a sight that made the loner retch. The other hand was holding hearts.

Real hearts, warm and steamy, covered in blood. The creature would once in a while take the hearts into a sack of gray fabric, which was trimmed with silver edges. But for a reason, the creature never took notice of the only one left, no matter how much he stood out among the paling, red-stained bodies.

But soon the power overcame him and thus, he was forced to stay as still as stone, and he couldn't even move his head up. His eyesight was fixed on his hands now, and his neck was stiff, until he heard the sound of a rough caw, and he saw the feather of a raven drifting right in front of his blazing eyes...

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**I move in darkness,**

**But I shed tears of light.**

**I'll grieve with sorrows,**

**But I'll do what is right.**

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**dci headquarters | late afternoon | pov: rasa**

The DCI Headquarters were clean and empty. Rasa stood near the exit, watching as the other agents left. Dare and MacCoy were walking together, because they shared the same apartment, talking to each other. After a moment Dare giggled loudly as MacCoy whispered something into her ear. Meanwhile, Glitch was dragging Mo away, his excitement bubbling, as was Li'l T doing to her sister Taye in another direction. Bodie and Emilia were side by side, having a light conversation. Emilia bumped her partner with her elbow and they shared a friendly laugh.

Lima stood behind Rasa, locking up the HQ entrance. At the same time Rasa's eyes were focused on Oblio, who was walking home alone, his head held high as he found his motorbike. He looped one leg over the small vehicle and in less than a minute he was off. Rasa watched the other agents tread away, then turned back to Lima as the doors were secured. The DCI leaders brought up a short conversation, mostly reviewing the day, and also a sharp retort about how Rasa had been a little uncooperative lately, even though it was merely a joke. Their talk consisted of other matters. And it turned out that they were still speaking to each other for five minutes. Switching from topic to topic they went. For one moment they were exchanging thoughts about Li'l T's exceptional performance that day, and the next they were asserting facts about Oblio.

Unexpectedly, that subject refrained them from parting ways for another ten minutes as they remembered their previous battle with Tan and Oblio's abrupt betrayal against his own father. Ever since then the blue-haired dancer had been quietly addressed as solitary, as if he were unseen during his DCI days. No one talked to him; not even the loud-mouthed duo of Glitch and Li'l T pestered him with a single question. He would contribute to the Dance Central Intelligence as if he were never their enemy in the first place, which did have an agreeable point to it, but never shared a word to anyone. Coming and going as be pleased, no one spared their time to stop him.

Rasa and Lima ended up discussing things that grew to an unimportant scale, in which they were debating on vodka and a night out for all the DCI workers, which was deftly dismissed by a tired Lima. They went their separate ways as everyone else that night.

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**I fly with swiftness,**

**And with it I am grace.**

**I glide with deftness,**

**Though the veils and lace.**

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**tan estate | sunset | pov: oblio**

Oblio swiftly dismounted his motorbike and switched it off in front of his house. It used to be his father's, of course, and it was massive in size, with the theme of M.O.C. only too reminiscent of what would have been the future of dance, Tantopia. Now he had to carry the burden of responsibility, for now what used to be his father's was now his. For weeks he organized the contracts of his father's corporation and only then he realized how much Tan had done to please him. He shook his head and banished those thoughts to the back of his head and lumbered towards his room, which was quite unlike his usual, confident walk.

Lavished in this sort of way was normal to him, but now that he had to bear the troubles that Tan had gone through, life had become strained, much like the relationship between father and son. Tonight would be like a gift to him; he could finally have a rest. He longed for the springy comfort of a mattress under him and the soft fleece cover of a blanket draped over him. Tiresome, he pressurized himself, knowing that a cozy, caressing room would be waiting for him. On weary, trembling legs he trundled forward, but he paused periodically to shake off the stiffness of his joints.

Not a moment too soon and he was back in his own space. However, his room—formerly Tan's—felt eerily, menacingly dark and empty despite the light that kept the room well illuminated. Now that Dr. Tan was no longer here, Oblio had hard times in his attempts to forget his father and bury those memories in new ones. Losing a family member was one thing, but having obscure doubts about a father's wellbeing and knowing that he's alive somewhere without being able to see him—_that _was a different kind of feeling. One that brought back grief and sorrow. There was so much to worry about that Oblio almost forgot about his craving for warmth under the covers.

He changed his clothes and switched off the lights, but he left a gap between the curtains on purpose—his father had always done that when he was but a boy, and now his voice rang in his ears—a voice of undisguised love and compassion. 'Sleep well, Oblio,' Tan would utter, his whisper fading as Oblio would slip out of consciousness. But now, it was a fragment of memory that, to Oblio, sounded like a ghost's presence, a hiss saying, 'Goodnight, sweet prince,' a sentence that sent chills down his spine.

Closing his eyes didn't help; Oblio was having trouble falling asleep. His eyelids felt heavy, of course, but something was keeping him awake. Be it the gentle sound of his own breathing or the air that was seemingly _too _still, Oblio spent the time by thinking of his father again, hoping to lift some weight off his shoulders. Instead, he recalled blazing eyes and shattered hopes, so he whimpered, hoping to let these thoughts dissolve as he tossed and turned, waiting for sleep to consume him.

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**I am not a token of bad luck,**

**But when they see me, they still fear me.**

**I am not a sign of suffering,**

**But when they see me, they still dread me.**

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**classified location | classified time | pov: unknown**

Among the throng of the dead, he pushed through, hoping to find a living soul out there. His kin, his friends, they were all fallen. On marched the nameless being, with graceful wings arching from his back, with black feathers drifting downwards every time he gave them a twitch. Those were all he had now; he could fly if he wanted to, but he would rather travel on foot, for that way he could see all and mourn all.

What was he to do? He shivered, and thought of his name. His name, like all the names of his kind, were bound like a spell. Legendary tales tell stories of spirits and ghosts, and that they are to name each newborn, and that the name, once given, could never be removed. Names, here, are prophecies that never miss. And that, now, made sense to the lone creature, for his name meant 'Sole Crow-wing.'

Tradition of his kind would have also condemned him to slice off their wings, all of them, and set the feathery limbs on fire, as belief told them that the spirit resided in those wings. Then, the bodies would be buried right beneath the place of where their wings were burned. However, there were so many of the victims that, for once, he decided to go against the rituals, just for one time. If the cloaked killer found him now, he'd be as good as dead like his family and friends, anyway.

Young and uncertain, the winged creature was torn. He would have spent a moment to cry, and shower his former homeland with the feathers of his grief, but that was not to be. So he took a deep breath and ran, plunging into bushes and at the same time retracting his wings, so that he looked just like any human being, of which he would encounter soon, even though at the moment he had no idea of them. To him, with retracted wings, he was helpless unless he had high endurance. And hopefully, in this escapade, hiding in the undergrowth would make him less easily discovered.

Deep sapphire was the color of his orbs; his eyes. And so with those eyes he cried more tears, shedding them, to the extent of forming a small pool of water. Then the youngster looked up, seeing a strange void. It was merely a ripple in the air, like when heat was bouncing light around and playing with sight. But there was no reasonable source of heat for the void. What it was, the boy with hidden wings did not know. But the void was inviting, and the curiosity of the child's kind was never satisfied. For a moment he was lost in the portal, losing all his anguish, until the ripples disappeared, the distortion of colors gone, as if they had never existed.

He trudged on, his glossy eyes glimmering as the sun was setting. There was no visible threat from the cloaked enemy, so he spread his wings, hoping to stay near the treetops as he entered the forests and far from the isolated village where he had been raised. Here and there he noticed more voids, appearing and dissolving as quick as the first one. They shimmered with an enticing glow that captured his attention. They were _calling _to him, almost. And so, unsatisfied by merely gazing at them, his wings burst out of his back, accompanied by a heavy rain of feathers, and straight into the entryway he flew.

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**The collision starts here;**

**When sorrow breeds with pain.**

**The shadows grow here;**

**When stormclouds meet with rain.**

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**tan estate | midnight | pov: oblio**

The dark night made it hard for Oblio to drift into sleep. For hours he lay awake. Staring at the ceiling provided no entertainment for him. He longed to sink into a comforting slumber, but it would not come to him. He grunted, and hid beneath the sheets that covered him, but to no avail. He simply couldn't fall asleep, no matter how much he wanted to.

Whispers and shadows alike swirled around him. Unnatural ones, in the shape of spirals. They writhed as though they were black flame, rousing Oblio from his bed. He carefully rolled into a sitting position, frozen in place by fear. The darkness spread, turning section by section of the floor into pure black. Nothing was visible beyond the cloud, and Oblio's eyes widened. The voices were all around him now. They were close to inaudible, as if they were drowned by the sound of a whirlwind. Sometimes they were loud, and by the next second they dropped. One murmur, louder than the others, was all Oblio could hear.

"I am Crow."

**author's note**

**It's been a while since I've actually written something acceptable and published it. I've decided to try making a different kind of multi-chapter story as Ryugon Alphae didn't exactly work out the way I had hoped for it. From now on I'll place my made-up poems in every point-of-view switch, and also once in a while include short references and list them. I will also include information about the species in this story.**

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**species notes**

**Name of species: unknown**

**Nickname for species: crow-winged, crow-feathered**

**Distinguishable features: glossy black retractable wings; other than that, they look just like normal human beings, with varying eye colors, skin colors, hair colors, etc. but they always have black wings**

**Abilities: flying, great strength, control over darkness; other than that, they have the same abilities as the average human being**

**Weaknesses: very high curiosity, low adaptability, fear, and will die immediately if wings are chopped off when exposed**

**Character of species: Crow (Chapter 2)**

**Name of species: unknown**

**Nickname for species: ravens, raven-winged, crow's nemesis**

**Distinguishable features: raven wings that lack the gloss of a crow's, red eyes, the head of a raven, talons on their hands, and are covered in feathers. **

**Abilities: flying, shooting feathers at high speed capable of causing great damage, telepathy with their kind**

**Weaknesses: short lifespan, weak against their own kind's feather-missiles.**

**Character of species: Rainburn (Chapter 3)**

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**references**

**'Goodnight, sweet prince' — a quote from William Shakespeare, with the full quote being "Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."**


	2. σвℓισ

**Feather Of The Crow**

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**tan estate | midnight | pov: oblio**

"I am Crow."

The statement echoed across the room, sending a dread though Oblio. The voice was deep and, despite being emotionless, had a tinge to it that made it sound threatening. Oblio watched as the shadows fanned out around him, consuming his surroundings and turning them into pitch black. Fear kept him in place. The whispers were still wound around Oblio but he could barely understand what they meant. They spoke in a foreign language, one that Oblio had never heard of before. The speech was twisted and irregular. Distorted words were uttered, in different voices compared to the lead murmur.

Darkness engulfed the bed that Oblio sat on, but did not turn it insubstantial; it only made it hard for Oblio to see things. He thought he had gone blind, but he could still see himself and his hands. Beyond that, he couldn't navigate in his own room. He shuddered, but perked up as soon as he saw a crooked figure that stood out only a shade lighter than what surrounded it. The figure was small, only a silhouette. Shadows depicted the shape, and Oblio noticed that it strongly resembled a small boy. He was short, and something arched high above him that Oblio had a hard time identifying.

Wings.

Realizing this, Oblio gripped the edge of his bed, not knowing what was in front of him. Eventually, the shadows that curtained his room faded. They dissolved into thin air and ashes that blew away, even though there was no wind. Oblio could see again with the little light that came in from the gap in the drapery near his window. Oddly, the nightfall gloom that survived inched nearer to the boy who stood there.

His hands were fists that were neatly placed on his sides, his slightly scruffy black hair was covering one eye, with dark blue worn-out cloth around his neck. His clothes were a ragged gray. The wings were black as the crow he claimed to be, with feathers as glossy as an orb. Feathers showered him, but the wings seemed to grow new ones as soon as they fell off. Oblio saw the boy turn his head to face him, and their eyes locked together; brown eyes with deep, dark azure.

Oblio tore his gaze away to examine the child more closely. By appearance, Oblio guessed that he would be no more than thirteen years of age. He seemed to have gone through plenty, with torn clothes and a scratched right cheek. However, he did not seem to have noticed Oblio. His eyes, even though had captivated Oblio, were expressionless. Did he even realize that he was here? Oblio watched as, slowly, the boy's fingertips twitched, and then he lifted one arm. His wings were still as stone. The boy's sapphire eyes widened. "Where am I?"

His wings lowered. They narrowed, and in a blur almost too fast for Oblio's eyes to notice, the black limbs disappeared as if they weren't there. Another dose of feathers showered him, with a faint piano glow that reflected the moonlight. He quickly noticed Oblio, and bent down on his left knee, his right elbow resting on his other knee, and dipped his head. In a pitiful and mournful cry he said, "I ask for your help, fellow stranger! My kin have fallen, killed by a raven-wing!"

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**I am the Crow,**

**The one with shadowed wings.**

**I am the Crow, **

**The one who destiny brings.**

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**tan estate | midnight | pov: crow**

It took him all he could to loosen his pride and beg for the help of a complete stranger. He recalled what he had gone through after plunging into the void only minutes before. Those voices were enough to have nauseated him, but he had recovered from that. The only thing that haunted him was what those whispers told him.

_Floating, the friendless boy did not need to flap his wings, for he levitated. This was new to him, and he looked all around him. Everything was black, murky and was mixed with gray tendrils. All that he could hear was the gentle rustle of his feathers. Then an echo resounded, and the boy noticed not one, not two, but an entire crescendo of united speakers, and they all spoke as one. _

_"_You are the Chosen One._" _

_He with the wings wondered, should he reply to the vast declaration, for the ones who uttered it had a touch of wisdom and nobility, ones who held a much higher position compared to the little boy. Then they spoke again, not giving the boy a chance to even open his mouth. "_You are the hope of the crow-wings. You must save our kind from the raven-wings._" Taken aback, the boy remembered all that he had lost. His mother. His father. His friends. His home. He replied to the voice. "_But _how? _How do I save the crow-wings, when everyone else died? _How? How?" he whimpered, his voice rising. He begged. Trying not to sob, he sniffed. _

_Already on the verge of crying, the boy shed crystal tears immediately, seeing a familiar shape detach itself from the shadows. It was a crow-wing, like he was, but the one in front of him was badly injured, to the extent of being hard to identify. "_I am representative of our kind. This,_"—he indicated himself—"_is how badly we are suffering. However, you can save us by saving the living. The raven-wings are keeping some of our kind as hostages. They want to locate a crow that betrayed them, after a deal we know little of. We have sent you elsewhere so that you will become stronger and find that crow who betrayed both us and the ravens._" The figure turned away. "_The ravens will not kill their hostages. We can promise you that._"_

_Fading, the figure's last words were "_Find him... ask for assistance from others... do not be afraid. You are us, you are Crow. Find the name. May you be safe._"_

With his head lowered, he bit back a sharp cry. He slowly stood up from his position, and then watched as the other one gaped at him in confusion. "Ra... raven-wing?" he murmured. "Who are you?"

"I am Crow."

"Crow. Why have you come here, Crow?" the man asked. He had blue hair and brown eyes. He looked very different from Crow.

"To find a traitor." He looked around. "What is your name?" he asked curiously. His acquaintance replied immediately. "Oblio." His tone was mild but his eyes showed fear. Crow tried to find a way to comfort him. If the representative crow-wing had been correct, then Oblio was the assistance he needed. "Why are you afraid?" he asked, to who he assumed was another crow-wing.

"Wings. You have wings," Oblio responded smoothly, still with the hint of discomfort. "I've never seen that before. I don't have wings. Where are you from? And how did you get here?" he asked. Crow tilted his head. "You're not a crow-wing?" inquired the boy. Oblio shook his head swiftly. "No, I'm a human," he mumbled in hesitation. "So you're a crow-wing? And who is this traitor you speak of?"

Shuddering, Crow kneeled again, but this time he explained. He talked about his kind and of the ravens. He talked about his childhood and his parents. And then he talked about how they all died. He began to cry, and Oblio was kind enough to allow him to sit on his bed.

"You see, I'm looking for him so that I can free the others. I can't live alone. The ravens spared me, but they must have had a reason. I don't know what's happening, but I have to stop them. That's why I'm here," Crow concluded.

Oblio lay back and rubbed his chin. "So you want to be the hero of your kind," he conceded. "A great achievement, but I think I can help you somehow. If you stick with me, hopefully sooner or later we can find this deceiving crow-wing you're looking for. But out of all places, why here?"

Crow shuffled his feet. "If the crow-wings sent me here, they must've had a reason." And he was speaking truthfully, too. "I'll bet they know that the traitor crow-wing is nearby... and besides, if you can't tell who it is, I probably can. If there's something a crow-wing can do that a 'human'"—the word sounded profoundly strange to him—"can't do, then it'll be easy."

"Well, then, how do you expect us to know a crow-wing or a human's limitations compared to each other? I hardly know anything about you, and you hardly know anything about me." He paused. "Or my kind, that is," he added.

The crow-wing considered his words. "Well, you can tell me... It'll take a while, but I'm sure that we can work something out."

"Have you even considered the possibility that I wouldn't help you?" inquired Oblio.

Unexpectedly, Crow realized that this was a test. He deftly replied, "I have, but you seem pretty curious about this. There isn't much in it for you, but you've been acting too interested for me to ignore anyway. Consider the following: if you let me go off, wouldn't you have a hard time forgetting me? You'd wonder what would happen without your presence."

"Good point. Alright, then, I'll see what I can do. First of all, I have a spare room for you to sleep in. My father... left me a while ago, and this was his room, so you can use mine. Right now I live alone, but I have work tomorrow. You can stay here if you want to. If anyone asks, you're my adopted little brother... or would you rather my cousin?"

Raising two fingers, Crow indicated the second option. Oblio nodded and continued. "Very well."

_Fast thinker, _thought Crow. _He makes decisions without a doubt. _

He was still talking, but Crow didn't listen very closely. The young crow-wing merely observed in mite silence. Despite all that the crow-wings told him, he still didn't fully trust Oblio just yet. One question captured his attention again, however. Oblio had asked him, "Do you know of the crows that live here?"

"No."

"Crows that live here are birds— you know birds? Yes. Birds that share your wing color. I've always speculated that they held secrets. Great ones. And ravens, too. They're just like crows, but different. Ravens and crows... what differs them from you?"

"What do you mean?"

"People, humans, they see crows as bad luck. But if they see you, they would think of something else. Have you heard of angels?"

A tiny shake of Crow's head was enough to make Oblio understand.

"Well, angels are just a myth. Not everyone believes in hem, but for those who do, the picture of an angel is never clear. Some believe they have white wings and are weak, for their bodies are not made of flesh and bone. Others say that angels have the greatest strength when compared to humans and are created by a being, the all-powerful, God. Some say they are dead humans." The blue-haired human lifted a finger to add emphasis to his pause. "These theories are either all correct or wrong. Humans do not share a belief. Some have none at all."

Crow met his gaze steadily. "Crow-wings have always been close to their ancestors, even in death. We believe that death isn't equal; it depends on a crow-wing's actions when alive. We believe that the true spirit resides in out wings. We believe that an afterlife exists, and despite no real proof, we cling to those beliefs." He let his head down. "Sometimes I wonder if they're right, but ever since I've met my dead kin, only minutes ago, I've begun to think differently. Maybe I wasn't just born to believe in such things, maybe they're true."

"Beliefs are odd, aren't they?" Oblio countered.

"Yes, they are."

"That's enough talk. We'll have more chit-chat tomorrow. Here; I'll take you to your room," offered the gentle brown-eyed person. Crow looked up at him and their gaze met for a second time. "Thank you," he said, and bowed gracefully. It appeared that the move was a courtesy for both humans and crow-wings, because Oblio nodded.

Ushered to a room about three quarters the size of the first room, Crow watched avidly as Oblio opened the door to reveal a dim space with the same theme. A large bed with comfortable covers and curtains on the window. Oblio fumbled for something that, when flipped, turned a bright light on. "You can't see well in the dark?" guessed Crow. Oblio nodded. The black-haired boy nodded. "Neither can I. I can control darkness, but seeing in it is a different matter."

"Oh?" Oblio appeared mildly interested, with a hint of disappointment in the hazel orbs. "I'd like to see that tomorrow. I hope you sleep well; you need to find a traitor, after all. Good night"—he narrowed his eyes—"_cousin._"

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**Of sins and mistakes, **

**I watch as humans create them.**

**Of when the ground breaks,**

**And doom falls upon them.**

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Oblio left the room, uncertain. What had he done, taking in a stranger who appeared in his room with wings strapped on his back and black hair? He had no idea why he would help Crow, but his theory was right, he had to admit, and he wouldn't hold himself back. The crow-wings were such a strange concept that he could hardly believe it himself.

He went back to his room and opened the door, half expecting another crow-wing or manipulated shadows. It was, however, empty. He walked inside, and a shudder made him look around.

_Tomorrow we'll see what we have to do, _he decided before dropping down half-asleep already for more than well-deserved rest. Hopefully he'd be able to get some shut-eye tonight.

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**Humans are silly creatures,**

**Gambling while they still can.**

**When crows gather with screeches,**

**They feared for their lives and ran.**

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Crow bad a hard time adapting. The covers, the bed, it was all so strange. How was he supposed to sleep in such an unfamiliar environment? He might not get any rest tonight, but he was fine by it. It had been an unbelievable day.

A content breath shook his ribcage, much like the purr of cats—animals that existed in his world, but he wasn't sure if they did in this one. Crow snuggled and, despite his discomfort, closed his eyes.

He then made room for his wings and shed a good number of black feathers on his bed. Bittersweet nostalgia made him smile. He retracted his wings and buried his face in the black, snow-soft feathers.

**author's note**

**At last, my second chapter! It took me longer than expected, and the cover held me back, but at least I'm finished. There will be more character development in later chapters, I hope. There will be an insight on the raven-wings as well.**

**One more thing: do you think that Crow is a Gary Stu? If he is, I will change a couple things. As you can see, he can't adapt easily. He'll show too much curiosity in coming chapters, and despite his strength showing he obviously isn't a match for a batch of raven-wings. **


	3. ηуχωιηg

**Feather Of The Crow**

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**tan estate | midnight | pov: crow **

As the moments passed by Crow had a hard time falling asleep. He lowered his face into the coal-black, lustrous bedding he had made, breathing deeply with each wing-beat. Despite his weak sense of smell, the familiar scent of wings comforted him. He remembered his childhood as it did. So many friends he had lost... a terrible ache in his wing-soul grew, like a ball of ice expanding in his stomach. A wave of homesickness swept over him.

He finally gave up and allowed his wings to burst forth from his back, almost without a sound. The sigh of his extra limbs, covered with plumes of smoke-dark, comforted him. He felt the corners of his lips lift upwards only slightly, but it was a pleasure that the action touched his wing-soul either way.

Whatever happened, he would have to rely on his dead ancestors and let his fate be determined by the hands of destiny they held.

Suddenly his grief swept over him again, unwelcomed, crashed into him. The emotional ride had him remembering his family, his friends, and his home. The dreams rocked him back and forth both gently and violently.

_Crow dreamed of the wonderful scent of pine trees and snow and frost, and the sun shining above the dry lands of a different time. Droplets falling front the sky in the form of liquid diamonds, and the call of the crows. At that time he did not bear the name Crow; his family gave him a name that, from now on, he'd forget. His name died the moment his family did. _

_Now he stood in a clearing full of snow. There was gray light bathing the glade, and frost sparkled from the pine trees surrounding him. Crow felt feathers tickle his cheeks as they showered him, and let his wings take him up. A graceful rhythm settled over the frozen air as he ascended, to a height that allowed him to see only so much. The other wooden houses of the crow-wings were always isolated; they would be separated by the clusters of forestry. A path connected them all. It was what his home had been like. _

_In the glorious dream, his horrors were erased from his mind. He lost his grip on his memories and felt as if he had forgotten something important. He ignored it and continued to rise. The size of his wings allowed him to glide, and despite the cold, nothing managed to freeze the wings. The dark feathers shook gently, and Crow smiled. A misty cloud formed whenever he exhaled. _

_Light shone upon him, a ray that tingled and dawned upon him, faster than a wing-beat. It grew so bright that Crow had to close his eyes. Then whispers, no louder than the beat of Crow's wings, surrounded him. They spoke. _You must escape... He seeks sanctuary... A bloody traitor wanted by raven and crow... Battle dawns... Wrath reigns... The sky falls, the clouds burst, the fire burns... Warrior calls, war begins... _They soon mentioned such darkness that Crow was too scared to listen on. And then Crow was left in complete darkness. _

_A light. A candle, to be exact. A small, short candle, with a red flame. Then another, an orange one. Yellow. Green. Blue. All the colors he knew, arranged until thousands and thousands of candles were around him. They lit him up, and without them it would have been too dark to see. Crow watched as they changed color, one by one, until they all turned into green. A forest green, a pine needle color that became emerald. The voices emanated, _He is near, and he seeks your heart. _And with a great discharge, all the candles died away. Crow was left in the shadows. _

He woke to see that it was still night. He whimpered, not knowing why it was he who was destined to save his kind. He was only a mere crow-wing living in isolation with one of the weakest families. There was no war, but the threat of raven-wings never kept him safe. And if he met the traitor crow-wing, how was he supposed to engage in combat? He wasn't strong enough. He was young and fragile.

There was no obvious resort for him to turn to for help. Crow-wings lived in eternal fear of their predators. Raven-wings were powerful, and possessed great strength in their wings. Crow's kind believed that those wings were ridden with evil, and that their souls were blown away and replaced by malice and bloodlust.

But was there a reason for the raven-wings' continuous life-taking? Not a single crow-wing knew the reason for their attacks. They didn't exactly prey on the crow-wings, because they murdered them there and left. The raven-wing who killed Crow's family took their hearts... but what for? And how was that one raven, who slaughtered Crow's former comrades, so much stronger than the others? How could he—or she, considering the possibility—pin Crow down from a faraway distance?

And why was he spared? Crow was certain that there was no particular reason for him to stay alive. He had nothing in possession anymore. Only a heart that he could give to the ravens. And why keep a handful of crow-wings alive as hostages? There were too many questions and too few answers.

Crow was soon trapped in nostalgia once again. He couldn't escape it. He had been strong at first, able to withstand the currents of sadness pulling at his wing-soul, but now he couldn't hold against it no more. The tide of emotion was too powerful that Crow was drowning in it.

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**My wings carry the night,**

**When the fall echoes.**

**My heart carries the fright,**

**When the raven bellows.**

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**classified location | midday | pov: nyxwing rein**

Nyxwing Rein, a short, frightened crow-wing, cowered under the gaze of a raven. He was cloaked, but she could see his beak and beady eyes, even though she understood little about a raven-wing's expressions. She had no idea what he had on his mind. He was staring dangerously at her, and she fearfully pressed herself against the wall of her chamber. Her wings were retracted, in case he killed her using her weak spot.

He pointed a crooked finger at her, and then motioned for the plate of untouched food he had left for her. Nyxwing was too scared to eat it. She shook her head, not knowing if he could see what she meant. She was immobilized by his presence. He seemed to understand that, at least, and left her alone.

She gratefully sighed, and then allowed her wings to appear. They no longer had the gloss of a crow-wing, but were ragged and unkempt. Nyxwing herself was very, very frail. Despite only being kept here for a short period of time, she had lost a great deal of weight and could feel her bones with ease; they protruded out of her skin. She was but a sack of bones waiting to meet her death. Her wings were also bony and she could see the veins that pumped blood into them. There was almost no flesh in the extra limbs anymore.

The female crow-wing and her family were attacked not too long ago, but only she was being kept alive. The ravens were somehow able to keep her from moving until they pushed her into a gray sack, and then they carried her here. From that moment she was rendered helpless and unable to reach her dark shadow powers—the ones every crow possessed. The prison she was in resembled a dungeon, and she guessed that she wasn't the only one there. A total of nine crow-wings from different villages and families were taken, and she didn't know why.

A moment later and her eyes were fixed hungrily on the plate left for her. There was only a single fruit, but she was starving, and she ate it immediately. Crow-wings would normally eat more than just this, but it would suffice. With every bite she took, Nyxwing felt energy trickle into her. Still, it wasn't enough for her to summon her dark powers.

Even so, she finished eating in what felt like less than ten wing-beats. She looked at her empty plate and noticed the odd container next to it. There was a clear liquid substance in it that she took for water. Or at least she hoped it was. She took a tentative sip from the deformed bottle, which was a tight cylinder at the top and grew wider in the middle before narrowing down to a handle. The end that she drank from was bent and flat, and it only allowed a thin stream of water to enter her mouth. She had to be patient and ignore her raging thirst.

Rejuvenated despite having drank so little, Nyxwing dragged herself to her feet and carried herself to one corner of her small dungeon room. It had a soft, springy surface compared to the rest of the flooring, made of raven feathers, and it was where Nyxwing often shed her own smoky plumes, making it a place for her to sleep. Despite that, her adaptability being low made her very uncomfortable.

Thinking of her losses helped her mind off current events. She let her wings embrace her and pulled her knees close to her chest, and lowered her face. Her hair, once silver and gleaming, was now gray and hung above her eyes and reached her shoulders. She cried quietly, hoping that a raven-wing wouldn't approach her anytime soon.

_Mother, father, home... I have lost them all. _

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**A lonely soul trapped in sadness,**

**Feathers disgraced and wings forgotten.**

**A graceful rhythm lost in madness,**

**Love dejected and movement misshapen.**

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**tan estate | midday | pov: oblio**

Watching Crow from the door, opened just a crack, was enough to crush Oblio's heart with pity for the young creature. He was no human, but he definitely shared feelings. Oblio had never used his losses to his advantage, but losing only his father while a young child lost everything dear to him made him feel terrible. The boy was listless and helpless; Oblio _had _to help him somehow.

Crow was crying, but asleep. His wings were wrapped around him, and he occasionally took in quick breaths that sounded like gasps. He was truly mourning, and Oblio wished that he could mourn along with him. To be robbed of everything that meant something to him... Crow was prodigious not to lose his mind. Oblio was certain that some people would drop to madness, if faced with the same problems.

He left the crow-wing to himself and closed the door, making sure that no noise came from it. He didn't want to wake Crow. Oblio then turned, sighing. He ought to check in with the DCI Headquarters again today, and perhaps help them if they needed something done. After all, he needed to socialize more, and this was his only resort. He wondered whether to come or not—he considered leaving a sticky note at Crow's door, but he doubted the boy's ability to read. It could be that he used different glyphs compared to humans.

So he decided to explain things to Crow once the child woke up. He could skip a day and no one would probably care. They wouldn't question him; after all, they never did. Oblio was free to do what he wanted to. Still, without going to the DCI, Oblio was unoccupied. He still had plenty of time before he had to do the last of his father's work. After that, he'd be able to do what he wanted to until the next month at the very least.

And with that he returned to his room. He sat on his bed and reflected on the past events. Many of them were surprising. His life had gone viral, from the typical dancer to someone familiar to time travel and other worlds. The transformation of his life was enough to astonish him. He brushed a blue strand of hair off his forehead and wondered what else was different in his world and Crow's.

He heard a quiet knock on his door. He allowed Crow in, and then noticed how they shared a culture of knocking on doors. It was a minor thing, but was worth thinking of. Crow's sapphire eyes were tear-filled, but showed defiance at the same time. He was an enigma, Oblio realized. "Well," he began, "What do you plan on doing now? Should I take you outside? There's plenty for you to see," he suggested. Crow's eyes brightened. "Really?" he asked, and he acted like someone of his age. Or at least what Oblio assumed was his age; he appeared around thirteen.

Oblio nodded, trying to sound enthusiastic. He brought up the idea of getting Crow some clothes that would be suitable for a young teenager, and the crow-wing swiftly agreed. Oblio told him that he would be free to poke around the empty house, and that he should be careful. Oblio prepared a quick breakfast for the two of them. Crow seemingly preferred the fruits over the vegetables and was unsure of eating meat. Oblio mentally noted to purchase some fruits.

Leaving the house to Crow had Oblio thinking, but he sighed and leapt up to his motorbike and rolled off with his wallet full, so that he could buy the clothes and food that Crow needed. He hoped that adaptability wouldn't be an issue.

**notes**

**Wing-soul — a substitute for 'heart,' because crow-wings believe that their souls and thoughts are in their wings, not their hearts and brains. In other cases 'feather-soul' may be used as a synonym, with the same meaning. Only used in the case of a crow-wing. 'Heart,' 'brain' and 'head' will still be used for humans.**

**Wing-beats — a commonly used time measurement that is unofficial and mostly used as a symbol of a very short time, and is used in the same way as a 'jiffy' or a second. Ex. 'I'll be back in a wing-beat,' is the same as 'I'll be back in a jiffy.' Again, this is used by crow-wings.**

**Second — because the wing-beat already stands for a short time, in a crow-wing's point of view, 'second' only means number two/what comes after first.**

**Shaking heads — a gesture that means 'no' in both the human world and the crow-wings' world. Note that crow-wings have more similarities to humans than raven-wings.**

**Names — I haven't noted this earlier, but names prophesy the life of a crow-wing. They are powerful, very powerful, and are bound tightly to their bearers. **

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**author's note:**

**If you aren't interested in my researches you may skip this part.**

**I am thinking of a chronology for the crow-wings to use, a time measurement unit, but so far I've got no idea. I've been thinking of using the unit æon—pronounced 'eon'—despite it meaning a very long time, possibly eternity. I may use its roots, aion or aiwon, or something else. **

**Another unit that came to mind was the word 'chronos' that may symbolize a year or so, however this will probably be a draft of my original idea.**

**'Zman' or 'zaman' may be used for an age, approximately half a century, but because of its different origin compared to the other units (it being Arabic and Indonesian while the others are mostly Greek) it has a large chance of being discarded. **

**'Kairos' is an ancient Greek word. Meaning 'the right moment,' I might use this as a fraction of a second or such. **

**Dropping the time topic, Nyxwing Rein is my second female OC and is the first in the Dance Central category. Her name is derived from Nyx, a Greek goddess of night, and 'rein' was a word that I found often associated with 'snow,' 'shine' or 'white.'**

**Have I done too much research? I think so. **

**The paragraphs above are the results of my research. Here's the rest of what I want to say.**

**Nyxwing will play a fairly important part in this story, but I hope that she won't lean to the Mary-Sue side. Other than that, I'm also going to describe each species further in the upcoming chapters, little by little. **

**Please review c:**


	4. куяαησ

**Feather Of The Crow**

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**street intersection | midday | pov: oblio**

The constant noise that the motorcycle was emitting rumbled in Oblio's ears. It was familiar to him and helped calm him. He directed himself towards a nearby clothing store and noticed the diverse display of T-shirts, jeans, shorts, jackets, and shoes. He expertly parked his motorcycle with careful precision and switched the engine off.

With that, he walked in and quickly sorted out the clothes that he thought would look good on Crow, hoping that they would fit right. He was brisk to choose, and within a mere ten minutes he was finished with the task. He sighed and reviewed the pile of clothing, making sure he didn't miss anything. A pair of socks and shoes lay on top of the stack, gray-black and slight. He nodded to himself, wondering what Crow was doing at the same time.

Shaking the thought off, he almost sputtered in surprise as he noticed Mo and Glitch in one corner of the shop. Both had seen him in an instant. "Oblio?" Mo said. Glitch, on the other hand, curiously raised his head from his place, which was between racks of clothing. The prodigy remained in his place while Mo approached, carrying a rather large number of shirts. Glitch tailed his crew partner like a shadow. Oblio murmured a quiet greeting, unwilling to dawdle as he paid for his own items. Glitch perked up and asked, "Who're those for?" with undisguised interest.

"My cousin," Oblio responded curtly. Then it was Mo's turn to question him. "Your cousin?" to which the bluenette nodded. "He's staying with me since his parents are in Japan," he lied, hoping that he seemed casual. "They have a company there and they usually take my cousin with them, but lately he's been a nuisance to them," he added. Mo looked thoughtful, but didn't ask any further. Oblio was squirming inside; it felt like there was a ball of ice pitted in his stomach. The African-American accepted his words and beckoned for Glitch to come with him, but Oblio was locking his gaze with the protégé.

From a distance, Oblio heard a high-pitched, female voice greet Mo in the girls' section of the shop. He noted the voice as Li'l T. And if she was there, then Taye probably was too. Oblio wouldn't want to talk to them as he knew things would turn out rather awkward, so he'd have to find a way to get Glitch to move out of his sight.

Green eyes met with brown ones, before Glitch bowed his head slightly and turned tail to follow his mentor. He was fast-paced and soon caught up to his superior, and they shared a fist bump. Faintly, Oblio envied their brotherly relationship. They each had someone to care about, someone who was almost family. Having his mother divorced when he was only five, Oblio hardly understood the lavishing love of a true family. His father had rarely spent time with him.

Oblio paid for his purchases and took the plastic bag with him and took the motorcycle. Within minutes he was already back on the streets. As he steered the motorcycle to one side, he thought of the similarities he had with Crow. They had both been derived of a familiar family life, and had gone through recent pain. Perhaps that was why the crow-wings chose him to befriend Crow?

Either way, he was reaching home, and there was less time to think about it. Somehow, he would have to take action, and Crow would have to be able to find the crow-wing he was pursuing. There was little time and so much to do.

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**Chronology flies, **

**Hourglass sand falls,**

**Tears will be cried,**

**In the glorious halls.**

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**classified location | afternoon | pov: nyxwing rein**

The raven-wings were treating Nyxwing carefully, making sure that she was still alive. They nursed her, fed her, and yet rarely kept her under tight surveillance. She didn't know why; she must have been important to be singled out like this. At least they gave no sign that they would kill her. Each day went by and she tried to learn how to communicate with a raven-wing. However, each time she tried, she ended up failing. Her curiosity made it difficult for her to take things easy.

She was being fed on a daily basis, and now she was gulping some water from the same, distorted bottle that she was given before. It was strange thinking that she lived like a prisoner. As a young crow-wing, she had spent her time freely and wasn't really an organized type. Now she hardly had anywhere to go, and this was no way for her to enjoy life.

A disturbance in her wing-soul grew, and she missed her parents more than ever. She was devastated, having lost so many. She wished that, for once, she would be able to meet the other eight crow-wings in hostage. Why were they being kept alive?

No hint came from the raven-wings that took care of her. Despite their efforts to keep her living, they would treat her roughly still. They would have eyes hard as chipped stone, giving away no emotion. Nyxwing pondered, for she had no idea whether their wings still held a soul. If they did, then those souls were terrible and were stained with sins and darkness.

One raven-wing in particular showed great interest in Nyxwing. He was slightly shorter than the rest of his kin, with a fine-shaped beak that was seemingly polished, curious eyes and oily wings. The creature never spoke to anyone, but he acted as though he was the one with the highest rank, which was not to be expected by Nyxwing. She did not know why, but she always felt a burning apprehension, some odd feeling in her wing-soul that told her that he was dangerous. Very dangerous.

That raven-wing was watching her now. Nyxwing huddled away, aching, and shivered. "Why?" she cried, "Why are you so cruel?" However, the raven-wing did not reply, but merely looked at her. Nyxwing brushed a silver strand away from her eyes. "You took my parents, my home, and my sister... why?" She poured all her grief into her laments. "What makes you so evil?"

And then she watched as the raven-wing stood still like he was made of stone. "Is it because of the darkness in your wing-soul? No, you have no wing-soul. But who are you? What do you want with me? I can give you anything if you bring my family back. I'll... I'll give you my arm! My leg, my heart, even! Or my wing-soul! You can take it, just bring my family back!" She was willing to sacrifice anything now.

But the raven-wing merely watched as she suffered, for however Nyxwing pleaded, he did not understand. A rift between the species caused them to become so different, so that now all Nyxwing could do was sink into misery.

"Why?"

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**Feathers, wings, gore,**

**Befall the group of four.**

**Flight, fright, death,**

**'Till none but he is left.**

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**tan estate | afternoon | pov: crow**

Crow sat on his bed and toyed with a pillow. He was now wearing new clothes, including a shirt and jeans. It had been a normal and uneventful day for him. He had been spending his time exploring the house, and found a great many odd devices.

One was an enormous black item, taking up an entire room. He had not asked Oblio about it. The item had a row of little white teeth-like bars and smaller, black ones above them. A seat of leather was in front of it, and it was rather grotesque in shape.

Another was a long, thin stick that was definitely not made out of wood. It was quite see-though and there was a smaller, black cartridge inside it. Oblio had explained it to Crow, naming it a 'pen,' for writing. Only then could Crow realize its resemblance to a feather quill, used by crow-wings to mark, not write, for they had no such thing as runes or letters.

He wouldn't forget the other oddity he found, the 'television' as Oblio would say. Losing his dignity after his reactions to the moving pictures, Crow tried to regain it, but during that time he was as excited as a 'cat in a room full of yarn,' Oblio had remarked. So apparently, they _had _cats in this universe.

There were many other things that Crow would philosophize about, but he would rather spend his time thinking of his goals in this universe, and what roles a human would play. Oblio did not strike Crow as the type who possessed a mind to think fast and make wise decisions, but he was not a foolish being either. Crow knew that he would have to watch out.

Without any hints he could not move forward. So Crow lay back, looked up at the ceiling, and let his thoughts reach his ancestors. _Crow-wings, I need your help. _

And so his vision blurred, and Crow was thrown into the vivid dreamland. The scent of pine trees and snow blanketed him, refreshing the young crow-wing. _Dear crow-wing, you must learn to do this without us. You must venture on alone. Keep your memories with you and never forget that we will be with you. _

But the little crow-wing did not want to be alone. _Why? Why can't you help me?_

The reply boomed forth, a crescendo of a thousand voices. _Do you call yourself a crow-wing? Crow, you must know that we, too, are helpless, but we hold our pride with us, even in death our wing-souls reign the world we once called our own. If you are to bear our name, you must have faith in yourself. Hold your memories. Those will be the most important thing you need. _

_Is that all you can offer me? _Crow challenged.

_Yes. We are as helpless as we were when we lost our battle. We are made of no more than darkness and light. We are mere ghosts, ghosts with limited abilities. Yes, we can spy, but we cannot go far. We cannot stray far from our grave. The only thing we can do for you is contact you, for you are our kin. Forgive us, little boy. There is one more thing. You need to find the name. _

Confused, Crow groped for clearer advice that would be easier to follow. With his eyes still shut, he reached out with his mind-voice, and, hoping for answers, he called out, _The name?_

_The name that will decide your destiny, _his ancestors replied.

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**Four will unite as one, **

**To prepare and not to run.**

**A battle awaits them; a glorious fight! **

**And so they must bring back the right!**

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**tan estate | afternoon | pov: oblio **

Oblio was trying to give Crow decent knowledge about the humans' utensils, and the first item that Crow was strongly interested in was, of course, the piano. Oblio explained in a teaching voice, "And the keys, of course, are the essential parts of the piano. Without these, it would be remotely impossible to play it."

Before he could get to explaining the black keys, Crow's eyes slanted and slowly closed. The last of the sapphire orbs disappeared behind an eyelid each, and silence followed. Crow's breathing became a slow process, and Oblio suspected that his heart rate too would have gone down.

He was entering that state of mind again, Oblio knew.

Once in a while Crow would close his blue eyes and enter a mental condition. The behavior that he showed was very odd to Oblio. Sometimes the inhuman boy would stay in meditation for so long that Oblio doubted that he would ever wake from it. It was a vigilant yet unnatural.

Now he was doing it again, and Oblio could only wait. Then Crow would remain into a tranquil silence, one that disturbed Oblio. It felt like the crow-wing was giving off electric sparks, communicating to someone beyond Oblio's reach. Seldom did it happen, but Crow would sometimes stir from his position, only to turn back as still as stone.

Shivers ran down Oblio's spine, watching as Crow's face grew deathly still. Besides the steady rise and fall of the crow-wing's chest, he might as well have been lifeless. A soft murmur roused Oblio, but still Crow did not move. It was a terrifying experience for Oblio, despite knowing that Crow would not hurt him.

And then Crow blinked, as if waking from a decade of sleep. Oblio pretended that nothing had occurred and continued to speak. "And these, the pedals, are for..."

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**Slanted grey light of dawn,**

**Sinking into delirium.**

**In the brambles hides the shy fawn,**

**With tiny wings she awaits them.**

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**tan estate | evening | pov: crow**

Crow's agitation was increasing. The spirits of the crow-wings were contacting him for no reason. Maybe they were getting restless. Maybe they were scared. Or maybe they were trying to get on the nerves of the last hope of their species. Crow was so uncertain that he ran straight to his room after Oblio's homemade dinner. It was nothing more than a meal of 'lasagna.'

Then, without warning, the wing-souls surged through Crow again, and then his eyesight was diverted.

Darkness took over, and this time Crow found himself in a glade, with the pine trees circling around him, shielding him protectively. The gaps between the snowy needles was enough for a filter of silvery light to enter, and illuminated the clearing just enough for Crow to see a silhouette, ever so faintly outlined by the sunshine—or was it moonshine? Crow couldn't see beyond the tall trees that caged him. He was trapped with whoever possessed the shadow.

Green eyes glowed from the figure, vivid green eyes with a shade of evil across them. An emerald glow that shimmered. The slanted eyes were fixed with Crow's oceanic stare. A silent message passed through them. And the lives, the spirits, draped themselves around Crow. _He is treacherous, _they whispered. _Remember the name. _

Once again frustrated, Crow asked them yet again. "What is this name I must find? Why must I keep your memories?"

_All will be made clear to you. _And then, like the quietest whisper, they repeated the one fragment of the past that Crow had forgotten. _Your real name, Crow. It is the key to success. _

"No...no... not my real name." Crow breathed slowly, not wanting to recall the name that reflected his past, for his name itself meant 'Sole Crow-wing,' a name that carried the grief that he had placed behind him. The pain, the agony. It was carried every time his name was recited.

_You must _remember. _Your name. It is essential. Remember it. Forgive us, we must remind you of the name that brought this doom upon you. _Crow grew tense as the voice paused.

_Kyrano Koráki. _


	5. ℓуѕƒøѕ

**Feather Of The Crow**

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**tan estate | evening | pov: kyrano koráki**

"No... I want to forget it!" Crow—or Kyrano Koráki, the Sole Crow-wing himself—screamed. It was as if the trees that surrounded him shook with the force of his denial. He did not want to remember. He did not want to meet the pain that he was so familiar with. He knew this anguish, the name that meant the death of thousands. The force that was hidden behind a name was so hurtful. It was tormenting.

_You must. _The voices were heavy with regret. _For one day you will need the name. Think of it. Keep it close to you. For if you one day forget it, you lose your last weapon. _The shadowy figure in front of Crow slowly stood up and smiled; the Sole Crow-wing could see the gleam of pearly teeth. The ancestors spoke again. _Time is running out and you must find this traitor._

"I don't care about the traitor! Why must I need my name? I am the Sole, the one and only, Kyrano, but to be the only crow-wing... who burdened me with all this pain?! Who placed this name upon my forehead, when all can know the meanings hidden behind it?!"

Kyrano broke down, and he fell to his knees. He went on all fours and screamed into the snow-laden ground beneath him. "Who?! Who did this to me?!"

A sob strained his vocal cords and he was rendered unable to speak. He cried, tears forming like liquid, transparent silvery gems in the corners of his eyes. The faceless silhouette in front of him moved forward. Wings appeared, a flash of feathers that burst like an explosion, with particles of darkness enclosing it. The shadow approached, and Crow saw a flash of rogue green eyes.

Eyes of a million emotions, reflected in those twin jade orbs. Negative feelings crowded upon both irises as though they were feathers spread across a misty morning's dewy grass. Crow, otherwise known as Kyrano Koráki, identified so many of them, more than he could list. Among them were lust, sadness, savagery, pain, depression, regret, violence, torture, envy, uncertainty, desperation, loss, heartburn, fear, grief, guilt, doubt, frustration, jealousy, cowardice, defeat, shame, insecurity, and plenty more. A bitter dejection. _I have sinned, _confessed the eyes. Every fiber told a story. _Mistakes have been made, I am responsible, and many have died. I am guilty, and I deserve to perish, but the crow-wings prevent me from fading away._

And yet... a light shone between each tendril of darkness, a kind of bright contrast amongst the webbed, grayish green. A dazzling luminescence, the type that would symbolize positivity by default. Happiness, joy, ecstasy, love, elation, delight, courage, hope, empathy, sanity, optimism, bravery, gladness, joy, jubilation, felicity, bliss, rapture, to the highest of spirits. This time the eyes admitted something better. _I continue to live because of a reason. I have a fate. For if I do what I was destined to, I could change the world for the better. I am The Light. _

The sort of thread that was sewn in one's iris, a brilliance that glowed like a thousand gems bathed in starlight, that was both gentle and powerful, able to create and destroy, for it was capable of anything and everything. In the eyes of this former traitor, someone who from now on Kyrano would call 'The Light,' for whatever darkness this crow-wing faced, now stood a pure soul that was relatable in any way, a spirit, a being that was equivalent and superior at the same time.

Some would say that this sort of crow-wing was now cleansed of their past sins and would from then on dedicate themselves to nothing but good. Of course, this could be true and false, both at once, for with every little action one commits, a reaction follows, for the better or for the worst. Realizing all this was a phenomenon to the mind of a young crow-wing stuck in the human world.

Only then did Kyrano wake up.

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**Memory is regained and names are uttered,**

**The power hidden beneath is unleashed. **

**With her wings of fate the Promised One flutters,**

**On a quest to find The Sole and The Light. **

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**classified location | midnight | pov: nyxwing rein**

Knowing that she would never get out of her predicament easily, Nyxwing began to devise a plan.

She was not a strategist, but she could observe the raven-wings and find their weaknesses. Lately, however, her recent searches only revealed that: one, they were deeply interested in her, and two, they wanted something from her. Neither fact was able to help her escape this dreadful place.

Nyxwing had recovered enough energy to summon her shadows, but her past experiences told her that using them would be a futile attempt at prison break. The raven-wings were capable of shooting feather missiles, and nothing good could come out of that. Besides, shadows were used as shields for deceptive means. They weren't useful for attacking or actual defending.

That left Nyxwing in despair again. She was still stuck in her cramped chamber, and that one raven had been coming to see her far too often. He had an odd interest in her kind. And today he was here too, sitting a little way away from the rusty iron bars that separated them. Nyxwing would now describe him, for she had no other activity to do.

He had feathers of dull, smoky black that didn't have the same gloss that a crow-wing would have. Some of those plumes, however, were oily. Instead of five fingers, he had three talons on the front and a thumblike claw protruding from the back of each hand. Every talon had been polished and sharpened, so that they were able to easily pierce through Nyxwing if she were to escape. His beak was of an identical color and was unscathed.

A scar was on his face, stretching from the topmost section of his beak, curving leftward towards the base of his neck. Nyxwing had always assumed that this raven-wing had red eyes, but she was wrong. Only one eye was red; the other one was a faded sea gray. The red eye resembled a raging fire, a sort of flame that stood for bravery and courage, but also violence and great danger. On the other hand, the gray eye was not as plain as a rock would have been. It was like a translucent stone, with tiny strings binding them together; strings of white, light gray, stone, and black.

If only he was a crow-wing, mused Nyxwing, he would have been rather good-looking. And yet he was but a creature deemed as ugly and merciless, a bearer of wings with no soul. A being cursed for being who he was. And yet... there was something beneath all those accusations, something else...

_No. _Nyxwing shook her head. All ravens were the same. They were unforgiving... _things _who had no idea what they did to the crows they murdered. And what was their goal behind all this? Why was Nyxwing still alive, and what was this raven-wing going to do to her?

She didn't know what he would do. The raven-wing was so different from his kind, and yet so much alike... There was a gleam in his eyes, a lively glow that had never existed in the hard orbs of the other ravens.

_Caw. _He tried to communicate with her, Nyxwing thought. In front of her eyes, he pulled back the hood that silhouetted his face. His eyes were more attentive now, and as Nyxwing observed, he took a step closer to her. And then he spoke a single word. A twisted speech, something nowhere near the way Nyxwing talked, but she could understand what he said.

"Rainburn."

•

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**Free your dreams in the galaxies, **

**And color the stars with your soul. **

**With every splash of the seas,**

**I await you to reach your goal.**

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**rainburn's den | midnight | pov: rainburn exousia**

Rainburn Exousia, the raven-wing who had spoken, coughed, his throat strained by saying a single word in the tongue of the crows, and watched as the petite crow-wing backed away slowly in fear. She was definitely scared of him now. The raven-wing Rainburn did not move, hoping that she understood what he was trying to tell her. He meant her no harm. He never had. But did she know that?

The shy crow-wing was still for a lapse of time. Her eyes were round with fear. Rainburn bowed his head slightly, and then acknowledged the crow-wing further by slowly opening the door of her chamber. And yet, the crow-wing still did not move. She was frozen in her shock, Rainburn thought, so he stepped back, his talons making tiny scree patterns on the dusty stone floor beneath him. And then, once he made himself comfortable a distance away, Rainburn continued to watch.

She hesitated, then crept out of her chamber. A disc of shadow surrounded her, a wordless way of saying, _Do not provoke me. _The crow-wing was both fearful and cautious. That was all that Rainburn could understand. He tried to remember the word he had learned a long while ago. "_F-friend_," he uttered in the crow-wing language, "_I am friend_."

Instead of looking calm, the crow-wing attempted to get away. But they were in an enclosed room, so she was cornered. The only exit was directly behind Rainburn. The raven knew that she was still afraid, so he repeated his sentence. "_I am friend._" He then took one look at her, noticing her cowering. Not only was there astonishment in her eyes, a wave of distrust was seemingly overpowering her. Rainburn knew that he was threatening to her, especially with his sharp claws and beak.

And then the crow-wing spoke, a shivering voice that included words that Rainburn could not understand. He wished that his old comrade was here to help. _Amauro Lysføs_..._ it's been such a long time... _Amauro, he was such a great friend, Rainburn thought. _If only you fought against your fears... why did you run away? We still need you. She needs you. _

He hoped that Amauro was somewhere out there, safe and sound, but for now he had to take care of the crow-wing. So he moved closer to her, a douse of feathers between them both. She was so afraid, Rainburn knew. He offered her to hold one of his taloned hands. Her own, featherless hand touched his, and he felt her tremble.

_Trust me, please. I can help you, _Rainburn prayed. _I'll save your kind from Draxo's army. I won't let you die. You _can't _die. Your kind needs you alive. _

•

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**Bonds made, **

**Tradition shattered,**

**Tensions rise,**

**As power gathers.**

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**classified location | morning | pov: amauro lysføs**

Amauro Lysføs. The Light, the traitor, the one who left his kind. The one who never cared anymore. The one who ran away, instead of answering Fate's call. The one who sealed the crow-wings' doom. And now his kind was falling, and it was all _his _fault.

Once upon a time he truly was The Light, a torch that burned with his spirit and would have ended the war between the crows and ravens. Fear, however, was his mortal enemy, and he couldn't withstand the weight it put on his shoulders. Rainburn had been his only friend... so much to think about, such a painful past. Given a memorable childhood and a wonderful time in his early adolescence, Amauro should be embraced his powers... but he threw them away like half-burnt firewood.

Personally, he would keep it to himself, but he would much rather let it all out, pour his emotions into a tale that was almost from the storybooks that never made sense. Being born with such power... maybe there was a second chance?

His wing-soul was calling him. His destiny summoned him before, and he couldn't ignore the call a second time. Was he going to stay in the human world like he didn't care? Was he going to hide in cowardice and allow his entire culture to die?

_No! _It was time for his debut. Amauro could feel his wings stir within him, a forgotten spirit tugging him. A yearn for feathers to flutter, a wish that was about to be granted. For the clouds were parting, and the winds were blowing, and allowed a single ray of sunlight to shine upon the crow-wings' new fate.

After so many years, a new hope, a new sense of justice, was glowing and shimmering, an emerald joy that would restore what the crows one had. _I am no traitor. I will be the hero. _A tingling warned Amauro of a survivor, a lone soul who was out to help him.

It was time for Amauro Lysføs to tell his story, wasn't it?


	6. ѕρуяιðση

**Feather Of The Crow**

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**classified location | twelve years in the past | pov: amauro lysføs**

"Amauro, dear!" rang a sweet voice, with a hint of warmth in it. "Would you be so kind as to get that rag for me?"

"Sure, Mom," a rougher but slightly timid male voice replied. Amauro Lysføs grabbed the piece of cloth, little more than a torn gray miniature blanket. He tossed it towards his mother. She caught it with one hand. "Don't throw it," she scolded him, "that's rude." She then placed the rag in a bowl of hot water, which was a discomforting sign to Amauro.

"Mom, I don't need to get my knee washed." Amauro was trying to insist.

"Nonsense, dear, it was bleeding. You need it washed," the female crow-wing replied. Her black hair was braided and her kind smile wavered. Her wings were retracted, and she wore a faded apron. Her son, on the other hand, had messed-up hair and a part leg rolled up to reveal a scraped knee.

"Mother, I—"

"I'm going to wash it, Amauro," his mother said. Her voice reached that point when she would somehow trick him into allowing her to wash the wound. Amauro gave up. "Fine," he replied a bit forcibly. His mother bent down and squeezed the rag, with hot water seeping into the wound. Amauro winced. "It hurts," he complained unnecessarily.

"That's why your brother doesn't go around chasing cats until he ends up sprawling on the doorstep," chastised the mother. Her name was Alexis Lysføs, and she was definitely the kindest crow-wing in Amauro's life. On the other hand, Amauro's elder brother Spyridon Lysføs was his least favorite crow-wing. Well, sort of.

"Fine, fine, then." Amauro heaved a sigh and excused himself, rolling his pant leg down. Spyridon was already waiting outside the house door. There was a wooden porch there, with three chairs, a table, and two steps leading to a path through the sparse pine forest where they lived.

Amauro noticed the cat that he had been chasing earlier. The vile creature was ginger-furred and was waving its tail casually in the breeze. It paused for a moment to lick its paw, and Amauro couldn't help but feel like he needed to chase it. The nine-year-old crow-wing watched as the cat strode over to sit on the porch, as if tempting him. Spyridon, sixteen at the time, placed a steady hand on Amauro's shoulder. "Let it be," he said calmly. "It's not like he's doing any harm," he reasoned afterwards.

Spyridon was identical to Amauro in every way except for height; he was a head taller. They had similar black hair and green eyes, but their personalities were what differed them from each other. Spyridon was an ideal first child; he was patient and reliable... in his mother's eyes, at least. When the two brothers were left at home, Spyridon would often pick on Amauro... in a playful manner, at least. Amauro was far less likely to sit still whenever Alexis was around, much less when she wasn't. Amauro was the type to explore and annoy his older brother when he had the chance to.

The sun cast vague shadows across the grassy land where Amauro and Spyridon would spend their days together. On a daily basis, Amauro would get constantly poked by Spyridon's shadows; Amauro himself was too young to control his. However, Amauro did have the advantage of size, being able to sneak behind his older brother.

Mist surrounded the house, weighing down the wings of dragonflies and bugs. A humid blow of air made Amauro feel rather cold. If he went too close to the foggy areas, his breath would turn into a tiny cloud.

Sulking, Amauro sat down on the porch and watched as a dragonfly hovered above a flower. He marveled at the mechanics of a dragonfly's wings. What differed this creature from a crow? The insect was small, but its wings were powerful. Did its soul reside there in those wings, just like Amauro's? The crow-wing intended to ask his brother.

"Hey, did you ever think about —" Amauro broke off, noticing the empty space where Spyridon had been a couple wing-beats ago. Sighing, Amauro tried to hide his self-awkward moment by watching the dragonfly again.

•

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**Time travels,**

**Light grows,**

**But his fate,**

**Nobody knows. **

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**classified location | six years in the past | pov: amauro lysføs**

The now fifteen-and-a-half-year old Amauro stood with Spyridon behind him. They crouched over a tombstone. Engraved in the hard gray rock was the name of their mother. Alexis had not survived to see Amauro's fourteenth birthday, and two years had passed since her death. Spyridon wasn't crying, but Amauro was. By a crow-wing's standards, he was still very young, after all.

Amauro sobbed his heart away. A heavy, sober air hung in the graveyard of the Lysføs family. Amauro was so new to this grief, but death was common here due to so many recent attacks from the raven-wings. Still with tears welling out of his eyes, Amauro, filled with grief and anger, thought back to the murderers of his mother.

Why were they attacking? For what felt like eons ago, the two species lived in ignorance, never minding the other's business. And yet the winds were beginning to change. Amauro stroked a feathery carving that marked Alexis' grave, and Spyridon cleared away the weed surrounding the small space.

Remembering had never been so painful. The brothers were given sympathy by the few crow-wings they lived nearby, but after Amauro's emotional outbreak, they never disturbed the brothers again. To put it simply, Amauro was distraught. The most painful moment, he thought, was when the brothers burned Alexis' wings and released her ashes. _Goodbye, Mother. _Those were the exact words that were uttered that time.

"Come, Brother." Spyridon got to his feet. Like Amauro, the older crow-wing had his back hunched, weighed down by agony. Amauro quickly followed, his feet almost slipping on the wet ground. Rain season had already arrived, and with it carried a solemn air.

Amauro didn't even realize it as his first shadow surfaced from the ground. Despite being of age, he almost did not care as he summoned the powers that would have come to him naturally. The shadows twisted, and they wreathed a tree as the darkness spun around it, until Amauro walked too far to control it. Behind the crow-wing, more shadows spun, the shadows of his grief. Not even Spyridon noticed anything, for he was far ahead, his shoulders seemingly carrying a weight that was far too heavy to bear.

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**Hate can be fatal,**

**Love can be foolish.**

**Befriend those you can trust,**

**For friends are the greatest wish.**

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**classified location | five years in the past | pov: amauro lysføs **

For twelve agonizing months, Amauro had kept his anger to the raven-wings to himself. He was still affected by the loss of his mother, even after one long year, and now, too, he felt a mini breakdown as he remembered the last few moments without his mother.

A raindrop fell on Amauro's lap. He looked up and noticed that more were on their way. Instead of running into the house to shelter himself, Amauro simply used his enormous wings to cover himself. Ice-cold water seeped into his feathers, but Amauro chose to ignore it. He was over eighteen now; he could surely take care of himself. Spyridon was probably cooped up in his own room too.

_Poor Spyridon, _Amauro thought. Ever since the loss of Alexis, Spyridon took up the burden of responsibility, having to do what he could to keep the family of two alive. Food, clothes and shelter; they had what they needed now. So why was Spyridon so afraid?

The answer was simple; raven-wings were able to attack at any moment. The two brothers would hardly be able to defend themselves against the screeching murderers. That was why the brothers lived in fear.

However, his feelings for ravens in general were beginning to change. Only yesterday, he found a fledgling raven alone in a small cave, enclosed by brambles. He didn't do anything about the pitiful creature before, but today, maybe he would.

Since Spyridon would be too busy in his house, Amauro would be able to go outside for a little longer. With his wings acting as a shield against the rain, Amauro uncovered the opening of the cave, sealed with leaves. He pulled out the raven. It was walking on all fours and was animalistic in structure, which was strange since they usually stood on their back legs.

It began to squawk, so Amauro silenced it by stroking its head. The raven quieted, and Amauro took a look at the raven, probably abandoned. There was a scar on his face that was still bleeding, and he had two eye colors. One gray, one red, and both beady orbs were staring at him.

That was the beginning of an unforgettable friendship.

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**The book opens, **

**A story is told. **

**Now it is closed again,**

**Awaiting a new hero's unfold. **

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**apartment | morning, present time | pov: amauro lysføs**

Amauro dropped his pen as he felt the stirring of a soul he had condemned deep within his consciousness. Here he was, in the human world, surrounded by humans, living with humans, undercover as a human himself. But what was this? The calling of the crow in the iron cage of his heart. A longing to escape, the tug of a long-forgotten instinct that had somehow fixed itself and was intact once more. The power of his ancestors, of the world of dark feathers and shadows, and an unwritten message. _The crow-wings' apocalypse has come. _

But why? Why was Amauro feeling this? The sensation he had left behind for years, now once again meeting him? Amauro struggled to slow his fluttering heart down. It was beating as quickly as a crow's wings. With each beat, a prickly shudder ran down Amauro's spine, the grief of each death he had caused ringing before him. His eyes widened in fear as he imagined the lives he could have protected, and his ears rang with the screams of their pain.

His breathing quickening, Amauro could only stare out his window hopelessly as he received the mental punishment from the crow-wings he could have rescued. Their link between worlds was affecting Amauro, and he found himself still as stone. His breathing died away and his heart pounded harder, but no air was entering his lungs. Amauro was still, as if he was to die. But it was all the pain given to him, nothing more.

Pain that he deserved. Seconds ticked by as Amauro suffocated, his physical health being affected. His heart was now racing at an unimaginable speed. Sweat made his skin reflect light. An explosion of shadows surrounded him; the result of his actions. The shadows played forth like puppets, showing the death of the crows as if Amauro was in a theater.

The torture stretched on and Amauro screamed. "I'm sorry! I didn't meant to leave! I can't come back! Stop! I can't live..." he trailed off, his eyes frozen. Enormous black wings shot out from his back, arching over his pale face. His heart was dying and he fell into a coma.

"I can't..."

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**A test given to prove the warrior's strength,**

**As his last breath escapes and he falls into slumber,**

**He may be strong but he needs help,**

**Before the world he grew up in crumbles.**

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**apartment | morning | pov: mo**

Mo heard the struggling noises and decided to check on Glitch. He opened the door to a sight that gave him the impression of a deja vu.

Glitch was on the floor, his eyes closed. His hands were sweaty fists and he was barely breathing, but Mo dared not come any closer.

No, not Glitch; _Amauro Lysføs _was his real name.

Wings shadowed his face, which was white as a sheet. A play of darkness and death danced around him, with thin arms reaching for Mo's feet. Mo knew that they were harmless, but he stepped back anyway. His foster brother was once again the fierce creature, the inhuman boy with wings of the night and the soul of a crow. But one question remained: why?

Mo's eyes widened as he watched the shadows die away, leaving the winged boy behind. Some of the color returned to his cheeks, and Mo was held back in surprise as the crow-wing coughed and tentatively sat up. "M...Mo?"

"I gotcha, brother." Mo lent a helping hand and steadied Glitch to his feet before leading him to the bed. "Or _Amauro_, as I should say. What happened?" Concern for his brother made Mo worry more than he should have. Amauro was a tough boy, but Mo knew the scars of the child's past.

"They..." Amauro coughed again. "The crow-wings are dying. It's not a dream, Mo. They're all gone!" His voice reached a shrill point and he grabbed Mo by the shoulders. More feathers fell to the floor. "Spyridon! It's death to them all... Mo! You've... you've got to get me somewhere... one of them is near... the crow-wings are calling me!"

"Whoa... slow down!" Mo tried to calm his brother down, but Amauro was panicking. "It's death to them all..." the boy chanted. "Death to them all..."

Swiftly, Mo pulled Amauro's arms off him and grabbed the kid's shoulders in turn. "Look! Snap out of it! I'll help if you do!" he yelled. But Amauro was drifting further away. "Death to them all..." he repeated.

Before Mo could even react, Amauro snapped back into reality. "Mo," he voiced somberly, "you have to get me to Oblio's."

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**The Light returns as Death rears,**

**A solemn sorrow in the hero's tears. **

**When The Sole learns of a name and a call,**

**He prepares to find the one who created the fall.**

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**tan estate | morning | pov: kyrano koráki**

Kyrano paced back and forth, his mind reeling. Oblio was right in front of him, but why should the crow-wing care? After all, Kyrano had found a fragment of his puzzling predicament, which was probably one of the most important parts of his quest. The dream he had earlier, the dream when he remembered his name, was coming back to him.

"Crow," murmured Oblio, "tell me what's wrong. Please, Crow. You haven't been yourself lately." Kyrano realized that he hadn't told Oblio his real name... _Very well, _he thought, _to you I am still Crow. _But these were important times, and Crow would hardly have the time to explain. "It's just... the dead crow-wings, they've sent me a message... they know who the traitor is. He's coming for me."

Oblio stepped back a little. "Wha... what do you mean? How do you know?"

"The world of the crow-wings is a spiritual world, Oblio. You don't know half of it. I don't know half of your world, either, but right now... I think I would've been better off without finding you." Crow sighed. "My world is at stake and I haven't the slightest idea on how to get back... we'll have to rely on the traitor finding us. But he isn't the traitor anymore... he's The Light that will shine upon the crows."

Standing up, the mighty young crow-wing reached out, closing his eyes and extending his spiritual connection to his ancestors. He felt multiple

**author's note**

**So Amauro Lysføs escaped the crow-wings' world and became our well-loved Glitch... but the age count doesn't really fit, does it? And I haven't explained how he ended up with Mo... yet. It'll probably become a side story, but I'll squeeze a couple details into the next chapter. If this chap was a bit sloppy, I'm sorry for that, but we'll see a growing friendship between the once-hostile Kyrano and Amauro. **

**That reminds me, should I refer to Crow as Kyrano Koráki or Crow itself? And should Amauro just be referred to as Glitch? **

**Oblio and Mo will begin to play a bigger part in this, but so will the rest of the dancers. This is when the plot widens and we'll see fresher faces, including Rainburn Exousia and Nyxwing Rein. You'll probably see some more dancing next; after all, it **_**is **_**Dance Central, isn't it? And what's Dance Central without dance? **

**Plus, I've got a new drawing tablet (the Intuos Manga one) so I'll at least try to make a better cover for this and draws my OCs, but there's no promising yet as I can't even draw s#?!t on it yet. **


End file.
